


A Victorious King

by ulrikavolf16



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: Eomer - Freeform, F/M, King of Rohan, Lord of the Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ulrikavolf16/pseuds/ulrikavolf16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story idea based on <a href="http://wellsplitmyinfinitives.tumblr.com/post/66254497099/i-just-want-rough-hot-needy-sex-with-the-third">this</a> post from Tumblr. </p>
<p>Éomer King of Rohan returns from battle still in a blood lust. And you are the target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Victorious King

"King Éomer returns from battle."

The news is carried through the Golden Hall, repeated from person to person, echoing off the high beams overhead. You stand from your set at the fire and set aside your work. Your heart races, wishing to fly from the hall to the gate. But you measure your steps, walking gracefully down the hall while others move quickly. They make way for you. You step out onto the terrace overlooking Edoras, the guards of the hall keeping their station behind you. 

The Rohirrim rides in through the gate. though many are unharmed they still carry wounded among them and lead rider less steeds. At the front rides King Éomer, the white horse tail of his helm flowing in the wind, the metal glinting in the evening light. He looks up at you and meets your eyes.

"We have victory! Hail Éomer King! Hail!" someone calls from among the riders. The cheer is taken up by the others and the citizens gathered around. But you do not cheer with them. You watch the King as he dismounts and makes for the hall. His jaw is clenched, eyes burning with fire. He tosses his helm to his attendant, wincing only for a fleeting moment, as they climb the stairs. He meets your eye once more. You bow your head and he passes by.

* * *

You wait in your chambers in front of the fire, letting its heat seep into your skin to keep away the chill of oncoming night. The soft cloth of the mantle brushes against your skin as you adjust it about you. On the table sits a try of food, but you have no appetite. The silence is deafening as you sit in anticipation. 

The door swings open and then closes with a bang.

"Be gone from me." orders King Éomer to his attendants. They dare not enter when he is in this mood. You stand slowly and turn to face the King. He is freshly washed, his golden hair darkened by the water that still clung to it. He wore a fresh linen shirt and soft cloth breeches, but nothing else. Still he is tense. Still the fiery rage of battle dances in his eye

"You are victorious My King." you say. He says nothing as he slowly walks towards you. Like a predator coming to its prey. But you are not afraid. He will not harm you. You gaze him over. Already he strains against his breeches. You meet his eyes again. Reaching up you unclasp the cloak and let it fall away, revealing nothing but yourself underneath. 

"You are victorious." you repeat. 

The King growls as he reaches out and pulls you close. Pressing his lips hard against yours. You can feel his hardness pressing against you through the cloth. He grips you tight, leaving your skin red from the pressure. Running his hands over you, kneading your flesh. When he breaks the kiss you are breathless, but you have no time to think as he brings you down to the floor, pushing you down onto your hands and knees on the blankets and furred rugs you had set there. He growls again as he releases himself from his breeches, tossing the clothing aside. 

The King kneels down behind you, reaching out to thrust a finger into your open warm. You flinch but bite down any noise. He feels how wet you are. You had prepared for this, massaging yourself before his arrival. Chuckling darkly he withdraws his fingers and slicks them over his length. He enters you from behind without so much as a warning. His thrusts are hard and deep. You withhold the urge to gasp or cry out, bracing yourself with your arms. At points his movements are almost painful, but still you do not make a noise.

He grunts as he thrusts, hands holding you at your hips with in iron grip. You sweat together, skin becoming slick in the heat of the fire and the friction. His hand slips. He falls over you before catching himself, arm braced on the floor at your side. He swears loudly in the tongue of the Rohirrim. It is only at this that you gasp in fright. But the moment passes and his continues to move in you. 

You can feel his body tensing. He grips you tighter and thrusts faster. You look back over your shoulder and see the King has his head back and eyes closed. You feel him inside you about to cum. But he withdraws. With a gasp he cums onto the furs and blankets. That was the deal. His seed would not be sown in rage or blood lust. 

* * *

 

You let your weaken knees give and you sit, looking back at the King. He has sat back on his feet, breathing hard, his brow slick with sweat. His hair hides his face as he looks down at his hand now resting in his lap. 

You reach out to him, lifting his face. All fire and rage has left him. In the firelight, his eyes glisten with tears. Though tired, you bring your face close to his, resting your brow against his. 

"It is alright." you murmur gently. "You need not hold back from me." 

Éomer's shoulders begin to shake. The tears slid slowly down his cheeks. He gasps for breath he had not known he was holding, whimpering. He reaches up and holds you tightly about the waist.

"Sshhh. It is alright." You whisper. You hold his head gently in your hands, kissing his forehead. Slowly you lean back, bringing the pair of you to the floor once more, lying on warm soft furs. You rest Éomer's head upon your breast and you hold him as he weeps. You murmur to him, stroking his hair. You gently run your hands over his back and arms, feeling the poorly wrapped dressing underneath the cloth of the shirt. You say nothing for now. 

You lie there with him for a long time. The silence only being disturbed by his pained gasps of breath, sometimes whimpering, and your hushed consoling. You both stay that way until he becomes quiet, holding one another.

* * *

The room is now dark except for the firelight. Reaching out you grasp your cloak and draw it over Éomer and yourself.

"Freda." you call. The old woman enters the room, staying out of sight and seeing nothing.

"Yes My Queen."

"Bring a bowl of strong ale, a bowl of hot water and some gut thread." 

"Yes My Queen."

 

You help the King to a sitting position. Gently, you pull the linen shirt over his head and wrap a fur about his shoulders. He is still quiet, shoulders slumped and his head hung low. You run a hand gently over the bandage on his forearm. Slowly you unwrap the bloodied dressing. The cut is deep, but not too deep that it would not heal. 

"I will need to sew your wound my lord." you say softly. Éomer does not respond. You hear Freda setting the bowls on the tables behind you. She leaves. You work deftly, cleaning out the wound with the ale. Éomer hissed at the stick but he did not flinch under you ministrations. Still naked you cross to the table and remove an athelas leaf from your family box, a wedding gift from the Healers of Gondor. You let the leaf soak in the hot water as you begin threading the wound closed. You bind the wound properly, the leaf resting against the stitches.

When you finish Éomer takes your hand. He brings the palm of your hand to his lips and kisses it gently. He holds it to the side of his face.

"My lady." he says, his voice husky from yelling in battle and weeping in your arms. "Do you love your King?"

You set the bowl of bloody water and bandage in your other hand on the floor and hold the otherside of his face. You lift his face and meet his eyes. They flickered green and hazel in the firelight. 

"I love, my husband."

"Forgive me." he breathes, kissing your hands once more. "I have bedded you like the animal war makes of men." He drew is face near and brushed his lips across yours. "Let me make love to you as a man loves his wife." 

 

 

 


End file.
